


thinking of the storm ahead

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cancer, Crying, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 17:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Wilson's condition doesn't worsen.





	thinking of the storm ahead

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH im gay and eager for happiness. keep scrolling
> 
> enjoy!

The five-month mark quickly approaches, and Wilson has barely (if at all) worsened. It worries him to a point, because will it be sudden, ridiculously sudden, will it make all their plans run short? What if he’s hit the lottery, what if Wilson went into spontaneous remission? How much time would they have together in that case? A few years, at the most. But he doesn’t know, and Wilson still hasn’t gone and checked with a fellow oncologist.

They’ve traveled miles upon miles ever since that fateful afternoon, riding into the sunset. On their first stop, they kissed, fingers intertwined, a silent promise on their lips. He doesn’t want it all to vanish; no, he needs for it all to not vanish. If it vanishes, his world will come crashing down, and there won’t be anything left to live for (he is dead, anyway, legally speaking). He needs Wilson to live, despite the odds, despite the world, despite everything.

* * *

They’re by Seattle when they decide to take a break from their endless motorbike rides. Wilson heads to get some water at a small shop and House looks at the GPS he got while leaving Princeton. Nearly three thousand miles away from where they started; terribly far away. They could come back to Princeton if they really wanted to, but there’s nothing left there. Granted, there are their old friends, there are their old patients— there isn’t Cuddy or anything worthwhile though. And House is dead, and it doesn’t matter anymore.

He sighs as Wilson books a room at a motel, House quickly following him and taking a shower. His leg hurts like hell, and it’s been hurting more and more the more they travel. He hasn’t been using it more than normal, either— he’s still walking as little as he can. A psychological pain translating into his leg; that’s likely, but he doesn’t want to admit it. Even as he holds Wilson close and doesn’t dare to let go until he falls asleep fretfully. Wilson doesn’t protest; he knows House, his fears like the back of his hand.

“I need you to stay here,” House says as he clutches onto his sides, like a crutch, like something essential to his very being. He doesn’t want him to stay, God, he needs him to. “I need you to…”   
  
“To tell you I love you?” Wilson whispers.

A humorless laugh escapes House’s lips, and he burrows his face on the crook of Wilson’s neck. So warm. Alive, he thinks over and over, ever grateful. “I guess.”   
  
“I love you,” Wilson tells him, not turning to look at him, a hand over his, squeezing gently. “I love you so much, House. Don’t ever forget that. No matter what happens— don’t ever forget it.”   
  
“I won’t,” House promises with a shaky sigh, holding onto him tightly.

“I know,” he says, “I know.”

* * *

 

Seattle is kind to them. The motel isn’t as terrible as others, some people are kind, they get stares and looks, but Wilson can manage to be threatening even when he’s the softest, kindest person House has ever known. It’s huge, too, but they’re used to the metropoli they settle down on for a few days before going back on the road. They’ve seen many things, many new exciting things which Wilson loved with a passion. House loved them too, of course, but he loved Wilson’s wide, wide smile a lot more.

“It’s nearly five months,” House says, torso up against Wilson’s back, draped around him, holding him. 

Wilson’s brows furrow. “I know—”   
  
He shushes him with a kiss; he knows he doesn’t like thinking about it. “But you haven’t… you’re the same. Have you felt any worse?”   
  
“No,” he says. “I should…”   
  
“You should go to an oncologist,” he says, kind and too sweet. He kisses him again. “It’ll all be alright, I promise.”   
  
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Wilson says as he stands up and heads for the phone.

“I’m keeping it,” House insists. “Everything will be alright. Eventually.”   


There isn’t much of a gleam of hope in Wilson’s eyes, but he still goes ahead and dials the number of a clinic nearby.

* * *

House stays at the motel while Wilson is off to get checked out by a fellow oncologist. Older than him by quite a bit, balding, seemingly friendly. He knows there’s no oncologist quite as kind and empathetic as Wilson, though— they all get worn down by the constant death and the constant whining. But Wilson, well, he did say he eats neediness; he’s addicted to it. Now all the neediness he has is House’s, but that’s enough to fill his needs.

He knows he’ll get some news he won’t be happy about. Wilson hasn’t magically gone into remission, he’s still dying, it’s just taking a bit longer than expected; he won’t be able to keep his promise of everything being alright after all. As much as he needs everything to be alright after all, he knows it can’t be— that it won’t be.

But then the door rustles open, and Wilson has a hopeful, wide grin on his lips, and he can hope, oh, and he can only dream.

“House!” he exclaims.

House takes his time, as much as he’d like to spring up from the bed and run towards him, he can’t. So he straightens up and limps towards him, his leg only complaining. But he ignores it, he has to ignore it.

“What is it?” he asks, voice so full of hope. If he heard his tone out of someone else, he would’ve mocked them.

“I’m—” He draws in a breath, and he breaks down into  _ such  _ happy tears and House’s heart beats hard against his rib cage. Wilson draws him into a tigh hug and he hugs back because oh God, he hopes the next words that come out of his mouth are what he wants to hear, what he so desperately  _ needs  _ to hear—

“I’m in remission! I went into remission!” Wilson exclaims between ugly, gleeful sobs.

And House starts sobbing too and he pulls himself ever closer, his heart melting into his chest as he holds onto Wilson like a lifeline. Because it will all be alright, it’ll all be alright— even if for just a little bit longer. It will all be alright.


End file.
